


Yesterday's Blues (Is Just a Shade of Colour)

by gothamcitysapphics



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Scream (Movies), The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Sidney Prescott, Crossover, F/F, Femslash, Gay Clarice Starling, Horror, Horror movie references, I Mean It Is Partially A Scream Story After All, It's Canon I Don't Care, Mystery, Slow Burn, so many
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-27 11:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12080385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothamcitysapphics/pseuds/gothamcitysapphics
Summary: Clarice Starling had a feeling this wasn't a normal case. Sidney Prescott somehow knew the killings weren't over. Amidst the terror, they work.





	1. The Trip In

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after Silence of the Lambs for Clarice and in place of Scream 3 for Sidney. Ignores post SotL canon and takes elements of Scream 3 but throws the majority of canon out the window because Scream 3 is Not Good. Also, yes, the majority of names are horror references.

It started in Woodsboro, California, with Billy Loomis and Stuart Macher. Then, at Windsor College, with Debbie Loomis and Mickey Altieri. Four killers in all. Two with solid, revenged-based motives and two whose motives were significantly less evil mastermind and more horror movie fanatic gone wrong.

And now there was a fifth. Possibly more. And the motive was up to Clarice to find.

John Milton’s was found dead in his home in Southport, North Carolina at roughly two am Friday morning by his girlfriend when she had come home from a night shift to find the front door unlocked, house trashed, and blood staining the floors.Milton’s body was recorded as being stabbed a total of eight times before he finally died in the living room. Autopsy reports suggested the weapon used to kill John Milton was likely the same kind of Buck 120 hunting knife used in four of the Ghostface murders in 1996 and five in '98.

Never let it be said that Clarice Starling didn't do her research.

Now, chances were the murder had been an isolated instance. It was plausible that the killer had never intended to be a copycat, merely wearing the infamous costume as a disguise during a sole murder of passion, rather than the start of a calculated game. Plausible, but not certain.

The California air was hot on her face as Clarice stepped out of the airport. Clarice never considered Virginia as being particularly cold but the January air outside of LAX had to be as warm as the summers back in Quantico. Clarice brushed her hair back out of her face, almost regretting her many layers and thick overcoat that were more suited for home.

 The first order of business was getting a car. She had one booked in a nearby rental place, which meant a quick tram over to a couple blocks from the airport. Clarice was no stranger to airports, but something about Los Angeles set her on edge. Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of large cities that got on her nerves– though she never enjoyed her small town background, there was a stark difference between the cities and towns she traveled to for her work and the hustle and bustle of the City of Angels. The crowd didn't make her paranoid exactly, it was her job to observe people and for psychological profiles after all, but the pressing knowledge that anyone could be a criminal weighed on her.

 Perhaps her experiences with Dr Lecter had done a number on her after all.

 Carrying her suitcase off the tram, she stepped into the car rental shop, taking note of the man who came off behind her and followed her inside. After a quick mental survey of _three men four women three kids two possible exits no visible weapons_ , Clarice stepped up to the counter and filled out the paperwork for her car.

 It was a small black Civic, and despite being a couple years old it still held the new car smell that always seemed present in rentals. Clarice felt herself relax a little inside the car, and she switched on the radio to let the noise fill up the empty space, turning her mind from LA to her case. It certainly wasn't by the book. Then again, neither was pulling an agent out of training to have her meet frequently with a cannibalistic serial killer in order to catch another serial killer. Few things Jack Crawford ever approved of were protocol.

 And protocol this was not. Clarice wasn't even sure if there was precedence for the killer, or rather, _killers,_ known as Ghostface. It hooked her with an almost morbid curiosity, much in the same way Lecter had both captivated and disgusted her. In some ways Ghostface resembled the same killers she studied; they tended to use close to the same MO, going so far as to use the same type of knife that was methodically wiped clean after every kill. Yet the similarity was the most unnerving part to Clarice. Evidence pointed to the killer being violent, ruthless, and consistently obsessive in a way that, judging by the reports alone, Clarice would have believed all four killers could have been the same person. The FBI’s dealings with copycat killers weren't uncommon but two instances of two people working together as one killer was entirely unheard of.

 Clarice drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, itching to go over her case files again. The traffic out of downtown was slow and mind numbing and Clarice ached for her work. She glanced absentmindedly at the cars turning south off the freeway. _Were any of those cars heading to Woodsboro?_ she thought. _Were any them affected when the killings started four years ago?_ But that didn't matter right now. Maybe she would need to head to Woodsboro if the case was dragged but for now she could keep her mind off it. Hopefully the killer would be caught promptly and Woodsboro wouldn’t be necessary.

 The drive was much nicer once she had left the LA traffic and neared her destination. Clarice pulled into Salinger Canyon later than she would have liked, but the view from the boulevard leading into canyon more than made up for it. The mountains leading into the canyon arched up high into the sky, with green and brown plants blanketing the surroundings. The town in the canyon was quaint, the buildings mostly a deep brown wood that seemed to fit perfectly amongst the greenery. Clarice parked her civic in the parking lot of the motel, which sat right next to one of a number of small cafes that Clarice had spotted. A large blue sign that Clarice suspected was hand painted hung outside, advertising it as the Salinger Inn. She grabbed her suitcase and the briefcase she kept her case files in and strode inside.

 The blonde at the front desk perked up at the sight of a new guest. “Hi!” she smiled, leaning forward over the desk. “Welcome to Salinger Inn, how can I help ya?”

 Clarice offered the woman a whirled smile. “Hi,” she said, pulling out her wallet. “I just one bed, ma'am.”

 “Can I see some photo ID?” The woman bobbed her head as she spoke, still smiling.

 Clarice laid down her driver's license which the blonde scooped up immediately, glancing at rather quickly.

 “Virginia, that's a long way,” she remarked. “First time in Salinger?” She handed Clarice her ID back.

 “First time in California, actually,” Clarice said in response, taking her license and tucking it into her wallet, which went back into her suit.

 “Oh! Well, welcome to the Golden State!” The woman's wide smile somehow got bigger. “How long are you planning on staying?”

 “Not sure actually,” Clarice said. “My plans aren't quite settled yet.”

 “Totally understandable!” The blonde returned. “I prefer to live life as it happens too.”

 “Ha, yeah,” Clarice said, offering another tight smile that wouldn't quite reach her eyes.

 “Well, Ms Starling, my name's Lila and if you need anything at all I'll be right here,” the blonde – Lila – told her, passing her a room key. “You're in room 4.”

 “Thank you, ma’am.” Clarice tipped her head in acknowledgement.

 “Happy to help,” Lila smiled.

 Clarice turned to go before pausing a turning around. “Actually,” she said, reaching into her pocket. “Is there any chance I could get some directions? I'm visiting someone but I'm not quite sure how to get there.” Clarice handed the woman a slip of paper with an address scribbled on it.

Lila squinted at the writing. “Oh, that's just up Salinger Boulevard, up that way,” she pointed back towards where Clarice came from. “And then you want to head right, and then take a left and that should take you where you want to go.”

 Clarice grabbed the address back. “Thank you very much.”

 “Anytime.”

 Clarice pulled her bags over to room 4, swiping the key to unlock it. The room was a little small, but still looked nice. The agent dumped her suitcase by the bed, and walked over to the desk, placing her case on top of it. Turning the number dials with her thumb, she unlocked the case, lifting the top file out of it.

 Later she would talk to Sidney Prescott, but for now she wanted to go over the case.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short, somewhat uneventful start. Hooray for slowburns


	2. New Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sidney lives her life as always. And then she gets a call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a couple notes on location? Salinger Canyon is based loosely on Topanga, which was where they filmed the scenes for Sidney's home in Scream 3. Woodsboro was filmed in Sonoma County, north of Topanga Canyon, but I've always pictured Woodsboro as being further south and a little in land and we don't have a canon location so?? Anyways

Sidney Prescott of Woodsboro, California was a survivor. Surviving the attacks of six serial killers, and becoming what the media would call a “national hero” in the process, was enough to prove that. It was perhaps this trait of hers that attracted so many people who attempted to tear her down, and there were many of these people throughout the years. Of course, these people’s fates were generally ill-met. 

But nonetheless, Sidney survived. She survived the Woodsboro murders, she survived the Windsor College murders, and now she was surviving life. Or, what she had of a life. Sidney had moved to a secluded home, on the outskirts of a secluded town, where hardly anyone knew her face or her name. Sure, it wasn't quite living, but at least she was alive.

“You've reached California Women’s Crisis Clinic,” said a curt voice over the Sid’s headset. Sidney recognized it as Alice.

“Hey, this is Laura from Monterey, reporting for work,” Sid said into her phone. “Can you patch me in?”

“Hey, Laura, no problem,” replied Alice.

The phone line went silent for a brief second before another voice filled Sid’s ears. “Hello?” the voice asked softly.

Sidney felt a tug at her heartstrings. You could always tell the first timers, the timid voice of someone only now just tentatively reaching out. “Hi,” Sidney spoke in a warm voice, trying to seem non threatening. “I'm Laura.”

“I'm Regan,” said the soft voice from the phone.

“How can I help you Regan?” Sidney asked.

“My– um, well, my best friend died last year.” The girl’s voice was shaky and she took a heavy breath. “She was murdered.”

Sidney pelt a pang of empathy in her chest. She brushed her hair back, pushing away the images in her head of her mother, of Tatum, of Randy. “I'm so sorry to hear that. But I promise you're not alone. Do you want to talk about it?”

These calls were the hardest for Sidney. Reminders of the past, her past, were always difficult. Still, she wouldn't let it hold her back. Sid liked helping people— needed to feel like she was making a difference. It was cathartic in some strange, backwards way. She had to know she was preventing people from having a life like hers, or at least helping them through it.

Regan cried for a while as Sidney talked to her softly about moving forward. The call was long; Sidney always let the caller decide when they were done talking, never wanting to rush them. Eventually Regan whispered a soft thank you and goodbye and Sidney took off her headset, sighing and rubbing her face with her hands. Her dog, a large Irish setter, came padding into the room at the sound of Sid’s sigh, putting his head in her lap.

Sidney smiled at the dog’s attentiveness. “Hey Bentley,” he said, rubbing the dog’s head. “You want to go for a walk, bud?”

Bentley’s tail thumped loudly against the floor in response. Sidney laughed, getting up to grab the leash she kept by the door, the golden dog following her obediently. Undoing the several bolted locks on the front door, she swung it open, inhaling the fresh outside air.

The property was large and surrounded by a number of large trees. On most days the space was good, the space was more than enough for Bentley and the trees provided privacy, along with the electric fence around the perimeter. Today, however, Sidney needed to clear her head. With Bentley at her side, Sidney punched in the code on the gate to open it and stepped out onto the path beside the street.

Sidney took a deep breath, grounding herself, before heading up the winding street. There were no cars, but Sid made sure to stick to the side of the road anyways. There was a soft breeze blowing in her face, gently brushing a few small hairs up and out of her face. It was chilly for California, though not unpleasantly so.

Sidney and Bentley walked for a while, the dog sticking close to her side. Bentley was a rescue, though Sidney liked to think that they had really saved each other. He was a good source of comfort through Sid’s self imposed isolation, always perceptive in the way only pets were. He helped her feel less alone. She really was alone, for the most part. She had to be, to keep anyone she talked to from getting hurt. Like Tatum, and Randy, and Hallie, and all the dozen people she barely knew, killed, because of her. Because of her connection to them. Because– Sidney shook her head. _No_ , she thought. What would she say if she was talking to someone on the counseling line instead of to herself? _It wasn't your fault. They wouldn't want this. You're in control now. It's okay to move on. You're not alone. You're not alone. You're not alone._

Bentley barked at a nearby squirrel, startling Sid out of her thoughts. She tightened her grip on the leash. “We don't bark at the squirrels, Bud,” she chided gently, grateful for the distraction. She gave him a quick scratch behind the ear before asking “Hey, do you want to run?” Bentley’s ears perked up at the mention of a run and Sid promptly picked up into a jog, the setter following suit. Breathing heavily, she pushed into a run, sweat beading upon her forehead. _Exercise releases endorphins,_ she'd often tell her callers. _If you can work up the motivation to exercise regularly the chemicals will trigger positive feelings._ She ran harder, tearing up the hill, Bentley beating the ground beside her. Sid ran with a fury, blood rushing in her ears and oxygen pouring into her lungs in deep rhythmic breaths. Then, she slowed to a stop, Bentley yanking back before stopping as Sidney tried to catch her breath. Her heart hammered in her chest, pounding like a thundering drum.

As Sidney’s breathing returned to normal, she found herself feeling somewhat more relaxed, though the same couldn't be said for Bentley, who was hopping around, eager to run more.  

It wasn't a permanent solution. But the high was nice.

Sidney took her time on the walk back, tired and not wanting to overexert herself. Her face was flushed with heat, the cool air suddenly forgotten. Bentley stuck close to her side, hardly pulling but still stopping every so often whenever he found a particularly interesting smelling stick. Sidney herself copied the dog somewhat, stopping a few times simply just to observe her surroundings. The canon was beautiful, and similar to Woodsboro while still being different enough to feel new. It held the same mix of green and gold as her first home, but there were far more trees and bushes here, dotting the hills with texture. A few bushes offered tiny blooming white flowers, soft petals reaching out for the sky. Sidney found herself home before she had realized, letting herself through the gate and unlocking the door.

Bentley took off towards the second Sidney unleashed him inside the house. He bee-lined for the kitchen, with Sidney following leisurely behind. Bentley went straight for his water bowl, the clanging of his collar against the metal ringing out as he lapped up the water. Sidney, mind on the same track, opened the cabinets to grab a glass, filling it at the filter. She sipped at it, parched, and wandered over to the couch, sinking down into it. As she finished her glass and set it down on the coffee table, a blinking light caught her eye. The answering machine flashed red at her, inviting. Sid stood up, striding over to pick up and phone before hitting the button to play the message.

“Sid,” came Dewey’s voice in her ear. “Sorry, I just– just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing. Call me back soon, okay?” His voice sounded tense, almost anxious. “Oh, this is Dewey.” _Click._

Sidney squinted, furrowing her brows. Her mind started to whirl before she stopped herself, convincing herself that she was reading too far into the message. Dewey probably just had a hard day. Nothing bad.

Another message started. “Sid, it’s me again. Please pick up.” A pause. “Okay, just, uh, just please call me.” _Click._

The tense feeling appeared again, Sidney’s stomach sinking and her breathe going shallow.

Dewey’s voice started again. “Please call me, Sid,” he repeated. “Just let me know I’m paranoid alright?” There was a shaky sigh and the sound of shuffling. “Just… Just call.” _Click._

Dewey spoke faster on the next message. “Sid, I’m off work in half an hour, then I’m coming straight to you, okay? I’ll be there in a few hours.” Another click.

The messages stopped and Sidney immediately redialed, calling Dewey’s office phone. A gruff voice answered.

“Woodsboro Police Department,” came the greeting.

“Sheriff Burke?” She asked. “Sheriff, it’s–”

“Ms Prescott,” the sheriff said, recognizing her voice instantly. “Thank god, Riley’s been working himself into a frenzy, he was just about to leave.”

“Dewey’s still there? Sheriff, what’s going on?” Sidney felt herself start to plea and tried to pull herself together with a shaky breath. “I don’t–”

She was cut off abruptly by the sheriff. “Hold on, I’ll get him on here,” he said. There was a few quiet steps and call of “Deputy Riley!” to which Sidney could hear a muffled, “Sir?”

“You got a call,” the sheriff said and Sidney took the time to take another breath, pacing a bit in place.

Sidney could practically see Dewey scramble for the phone. “Sid?” he asked, frantically.

“Dewey?” Sidney returned.

“Sid! Sid, I’m just leaving now, there’s gotta be really bad rush hour up towards LA but I can detour around a ways and get there faster probably and–”

“Dewey,” Sidney said, trying to get his attention, but the man kept talking at a million miles per hour.

“I can speed, I’m sure I can get there in two hours or two in a half hours, three tops,” he prattled. Sid heard a gentle chiding in the background from who Sid could only assume was the sheriff, before Dewey said clearly, “I will drive the speed limit and I will be safe and legal. But fast, very fast, I promise.”

“ _Dewey,”_ Sidney stressed and the deputy stopped. “Dewey, I don’t know what happened.”

Dewey was silent for a moment. It seemed to drag, Sidney’s heart sinking more with every millisecond Dewey said nothing. “Oh,” he said finally. “Oh, oh jeez, Sid, I’m so– God, Sid, I’m so sorry.”

Sidney blinked slowly, preparing herself. “Who was it?”

Dewey sighed. “Kid in North Carolina. College student.”

Sidney sucked in a breath, her heart stuttering. She pressed a hand over her mouth, unable to speak.

“They found him early this morning,” Dewey added softly.

Sidney lowered her hand. “Shit,” was all she could muster.

“I know.” Dewey seemed more composed now, suddenly stepping into consoling big brother mode. “I’m so sorry, Sid. It’ll be okay, we’ll catch the sucker who did this.”

“Yeah,” Sidney replied numbly. “Yeah.”

“I’ll be there soon okay?” Dewey said yet again, softer this time. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Uh huh,” Sidney said, looking down.

Dewey sighed. “If you need to call me, you can, I’ll pull over if I have to,” he told her.

“Okay. See you soon?”

“Very soon,” Dewey returned. “You going to be okay on your own for a bit?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Sidney swallowed, forcing herself to believe it. “You don’t have to worry about me, Dewey.”

“I know,” he told her. “Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

“See you soon, Dewey,” Sid said.

“See ya,” Dewey returned. Sidney waited a moment for Dewey to hang up but she quickly realized he was waiting for her to hang up on her own terms so she set the phone down herself.

She found herself sinking into the couch again. _It wasn't your fault,_ she told herself again. _They wouldn't want this. You're in control now. It's okay to move on. You're not alone._

_You're not alone._

_You're not alone._

She was alone.


End file.
